"He is the very devil, that Worse!" said the attaché, leaning back in the armchair; "but it does me good to hear any one speak out his mind so plainly."
"He is too violent; he forgets conventionalities."
"It is possible to have too much conventionality. It is well for young people to air their views; it does them good."
"What nonsense you are talking, Dick!" cried the Consul, entering his brother's room. "What the deuce would become of the world if youngsters were allowed to jabber like that on every possible occasion?"
But Uncle Richard was not nervous when they were tête-à-tête. He got slowly up from his chair, and let his dressing-gown slip off his shoulders; and the two brothers now stood opposite each other, in very different déshabille. The young Consul was in his night-shirt, and a pair of flannel drawers tied at the knees with broad tape. His thin legs were thrust into long grey stockings, which Miss Cordsen alone knew how to knit. Richard had a pair of Turkish slippers, thread stockings, which fitted closely to his well-formed leg, and a shirt of fine material stiffly starched, in which he always slept. There were none of his brother's failings which the Consul disliked more than this.
"I tell you what, Christian Frederick," said Uncle Richard, as he laid his hand on his brother's shoulder, "I don't say that young people will do the world a great deal of good by making a noise, but I am quite certain that none of us have done it much good by holding our tongue."
"What do you mean? Nonsense, Richard!" said the Consul, contemptuously, as he turned back into his room.
They both got into bed and put out their lights.
"Good night, Christian Frederick."
"Good night," answered the Consul, rather drily; but just as Uncle Richard was on the point of falling asleep, he heard his brother say--